faithfully
by songs
Summary: 15/30. And sometimes, Zuko wishes for what he cannot have; — ო zutara.
1. pour some sugar on me

**chapter title**: pour some sugar on me

**wordcount: **1160

**setting: **S3. pre-southern-raiders.

**prompt**: #14, sweeten.

**summary: **Katara needs more than a little sugar to sweeten Zuko's bitter tea.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

Katara's mornings have come to comprise of: eyes creaking open to the alto chant of the crow-birds, combing fountain-water through the bed-tangles of her hair, scouting for pots and pans in the stuffy kitchen at the Air Temple, letting the jasmine tea boil as she chops moon-peaches for breakfast, and calling everyone in from their training.

Which is why, one morning, when she makes it down the winding stair-steps and into the tiny, marble kitchen, she is more than a little surprised to see _Zuko _ambling around the cramped space like he's been there all his life (and not like he's just switched to their side a week ago, she huffs), sprinkling spices and stirring into one of the _many _bubbling pots hanging over the fire-pit.

He doesn't seem to hear her enter, so she clears her throat. _Hard._

His head jerks toward her in an instant, and she only sees the unmarred, moon-white side of his face when he says, "Oh, er, good morning...Katara." His voice jumps in pitch when he says her name. "You're up...early."

"I'm _always _up by now," she snaps, through her teeth. She's almost hissing when she continues, "In case you were too ungrateful to notice, _that _is why your breakfast is made on time. Because I can't sleep in."

"Oh, yeah, that's what I wanted to tell you!" he says, awkwardly, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. Katara has to bite back a scream; he'd _better _wash his hands before he touches the food again; she _knows _he trains with Aang at dawn, and it's likely that he's still slick with sweat and dirt and ashes. She almost jumps, though, when he goes on, "I...well...we all thought you needed a day off. I mean, you cook, you train Aang, you clean...so, erm, I decided to help. By making breakfast."

She blinks: once, twice, taken aback. And then she can't help it; something inside of her flutters, warming her to the bones. For a moment, she is _touched. _The others sometimes compliment her cooking, but usually it's just a stream of complaints over how the rice is burnt or how there isn't enough meat or how the lily-apples aren't cut right. And nobody has ever offered to _help._

Then, she remembers that this is _Zuko. _The boy she had trusted, the boy who had betrayed her. The spoiled, cruel-hearted prince. Katara _wants _to be furious again, but the sweet feeling still lingers. A hot flush dusts over her cheeks, and she hates herself for going soft because he decided to help around the kitchen.

Irritated, she moves to the table, slipping herself into one of the wood-bone chairs. Zuko's eyes follow her path, and when he throws her a questioning look, she barks, "Well, what are you waiting for?" Confusion clouds his features, and she snaps, "You said you made breakfast, right? Then, pour me a cup of tea!"

"Oh. Sure," he says, tone a bit strained. He goes over to the kettle, pulling it off of its perch over the fire—without even cringing at the heat, she thinks bitterly—before pouring it into one of the small, china-cups that she had discovered in a supplies closet, a few days before.

Zuko is quiet when he places the tea before her, and steps back, as if getting any closer to her will burn him. The thought sets a rush of anger straight through her; if anything, _she _should be wary of _him_. And she doesn't trust him. Not at all; that is why she eyes the hot cup before her, checking for anything suspicious—she ignores the low sigh that he emits at her actions—and then, when she deems it safe, without even _waiting _for it to cool down, she takes a long, sharp gulp—

And nearly chokes on the supposed 'tea', before spitting it out.

"This is _disgusting_!" Katara screeches, swiping at her lips with the back of her hand. "It's strong and bitter and tastes like—ugh!"

She expects him to spew apologies at her, to grovel, to _beg_. She is practically fuming, searching for a napkin or a cloth to dab over the mess on the table. But he doesn't even offer to clean it up, doesn't ask her if she is okay.

Instead, he _laughs. _

"Ah—!" He is pointing at her, holding his abdomen as he laughs. "You should've seen your_ face_...!"

Zuko, _Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, _is trembling with mirth, breathing out loud, jerky, guffaws, and Katara stares. She has never seen him like this. Open, unbidden. Not sullen or angled or pained. Just...free.

And then her anger catches up with her. She yells, "I'd like to know what you think is _so funn_y!"

He seems to dull a bit at those words, swallows up the last of his rather _unattractive _chuckles.

"I—" He clears his throat, breathes through his nose. "Sorry, um...about that. Uncle always tells me my tea is horrible. Want some sugar-cubes?"

Katara goes blank; what she _really _wants is for him to get out of the kitchen before he causes another culinary disaster. But she feels herself nod, watching as he gropes for the porcelain, sugar-bowl, and plucks out one of the small, powdery cubes.

The moment is: her heartbeat, loud and erratic, her eyes, zoned in on the long, swan-curves of his fingers as he holds the crystal-cube, her lips, dry as famine, her voice, caught in her throat as he brings the sugar to his mouth.

"Sorry," he teases, tone playful. He licks his finger. "That was the last one."

She blames her following actions on: the early hour of the morning, Zuko's disgusting tea, as well as his horrible sense of humor. She storms towards him, her eyes narrowed into ocean slits. Zuko, for his part, seems to have just realized what he has done; the nerves set into his features quickly.

"Er, Katara, I'm sorry, I was just kidding around. There's more sugar in the—"

And then he stops talking. Because her lips are on his.

Contrary to popular belief, Katara is not delicate or gentle. She is harsh and insistent as she pries his mouth open with the pink line of her own; her hands tangle into his hair and she feels him dip beneath her, holding her closer, shock keeping him from firmly melting into her touch. The kiss is open and hard and _sweet—_she grins delightedly against him, before pulling back, licking her lips.

He is gaping at her, panting slightly, and she is glad for the adrenaline rush surging through her, otherwise, she would likely be looking exactly the same as him.

Instead, she announces, voice dripping with false-innocence:

"You were right." Her smile is wicked. "Your tea just needed something sweet."

Zuko can only stare after her, jaw slack, as she gracefully slips out of the room.

It is only then that he notices that the sugar that was in his mouth is _gone._

* * *

**author's notes:**

yay, faithfully is back! only, starting with a different prompt. because my edit for 'defiant' is not finished yet.

for now, please enjoy this fluff (which is COMPLETELY different from what i usually write), and please review with thoughts? would you prefer more happy ficlets like this, or my usual...depressing ones? xD

let me know!

_~nora_


	2. zuko, the latte boy

**chapter title: **zuko, the latte boy

**prompt**: #21 obvious

**wordcount: **1560

**setting: **AU, highschool. Katara is about 16, Zuko is 18.

**summary: **During the spring of her sophomore year, Katara finds her True Love in the form of the gorgeous barista at The Jasmine Dragon.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

**THURSDAY, APRIL 5TH, 2012**

**4:00 PM**

They meet on a Thursday afternoon, beneath the café's florescent lights; she has just recently dumped her Idiot Cheating Boyfriend, Jet, and has week-old mascara clouding her lashes and hair that she might not have washed for about two or...eight days.

_Very_ romantic.

She knows she looks like she's just woken up from the dead, and she practically has, having just crawled out of her week-long stay in the cave that is Post-Breakup-Self-Pity.

So, naturally, after seeing the sunlight for the first time in forever, she needs _caffeine._

It is meant to be a grab-the-coffee-and-go-back-into-hiding sort of ordeal.

"Medium vanilla chai," she orders, sounding vaguely dead. A beat later she adds, "Please."

Because being dead does _not _excuse bad manners.

The tall, relatively gloomy looking girl at the register drones, "That'll be four-fifty-five."

Katara nods, digging into her purse for her wallet.

And digs. And digs. And then digs some more, ignoring the pointed snarls and screeches of the line of people behind her. She pulls out hand sanitizer, her phone, her keys, and is left with a decidedly empty bag.

_Wonderful._

"I...uh..." she begins, because this really has to be a joke. "I... think I forgot my wallet." she finally says, managing to sound sheepish and monotone at the same time.

The girl at the counter—_Mai, _according to her nametag—rolls her eyes, unamused. The steaming cup of Heavenly Vanilla Chai lays to her left on the counter, and Katara tries not to cry when Mai scoffs, "Whatever, then. I'll just trash this."

Katara is prepared for her Walk of Shame, when _out of nowhere, _a boy appears behind the counter. A tall, lanky boy with something that looks like a burn scar covering a great potion of his face. Despite her current All-Men-Are-Pigs-I-am-Woman-Hear-Me-Roar phase, Katara cannot help but note that he is Certifiably Yummy.

_What a shame I'll never see him again, _she muses to herself, _Considering I'm not showing my face here for another billion years._

"It's fine, Mai," says a voice. A voice that happens to be coming out of Man Candy, er—she squints at his nametag—_Zuko's_ mouth. "Just put it on my tab. We already made it, it'd be a waste to throw it out."

Katara snaps out of her stupor, and finds herself saying, "N-no! It's okay. I'm an idiot, I forgot my wallet, you don't have to—"

"Don't worry about it." He smiles at her, lips quirked _beautifully, _and Katara's world, at that moment, only consists of her erratic heartbeat and Zuko—now dubbed True Love's—lips.

That night, she washes for hair.

It is a new beginning.

* * *

**FRIDAY, APRIL 6TH, 2012**

**2:30 PM**

Katara goes back to the Jasmine Dragon the next day because, _dang, _they make a good vanilla chai. Not at _all_ because she is an idiot and wants to see her True Love again.

And she is _not _disappointed when some random, grody flirt named Chan or Han or whatever hands her her drink.

It's not like she came for anything but the coffee. She most definitely isn't here to check up on one of the beautiful baristas.

Because that would make her a _creep._

* * *

**TUESDAY, APRIL 18TH, 2012**

**5:08 PM**

Katara has decided that, okay, she_ is_ a creep.

And that if she continues on these café endeavors, she is going to get _fat._

But stalking True Love from the corner table with Suki makes it all _worth it._

* * *

**WEDNESDAY, APRIL 26TH, 2012**

**4:07 PM**

_Oh my god, Tui and La, ohmigod, tuiandla_, Katara's mind supplies, as she stands in front of the counter, face-to-face with none other than her True Love. She's been coming to the café every day for _three weeks. _She really hopes she isn't being too obvious.

"I'll have one vanilla chai and a caramel mocha for my friend," she orders, hopefully not _ too _excitedly, handing the bills over to her True Love.

He's _so _her Soulmate. He just doesn't know it yet.

And, hello, the café is empty, save for her, Suki, and him. Clearly, this is a sign.

True Love, however, doesn't really pay her any mind. She wonders if he even remembers her; probably not, considering she's showered since Their First, Chance Meeting. He gives her back her change, before heading to the back to make the drinks. "Coming right up."

From their table, Suki throws her a thumbs-up.

_You've got this, _she mouths to Katara. _He's totally into you._

_You think_? she shapes the words back, eyebrows raised comically. _I don't know—_

Too absorbed in her voiceless conversation with her Best Friend/Sister-In-Law-To-Be, Katara doesn't even notice when True Love comes out, drinks in hand.

_I mean, I wore my new mascara today! Just for him! _Katara continues, confused by the way Suki is making erratic hand gestures towards her. _I blinked, like, eighteen times, but he didn't even look at me! He probably thinks I have a condition. And what are you doing—_

_Turn. Around, _Suki's lips say.

Somewhere from behind her, she hears someone clear their throat. And the throat-clearer sounds suspiciously like True Love.

...And Katara kind of wants to die.

Katara jerks her head back instantly, because there is _no way _she's going to risk looking like even more of a freak by doing the slow-horror-movie-head-turn that only intensifies Awkward Situations. But she lets out a low _ouch _because she's pretty sure she pulled something and that she may or may not have gotten whiplash.

All of this happens in the span of about thirty seconds. Katara crowns this the worst half-minute of her _life. _

"Um." Her betraying eyes zero in on his mouth, which is currently in the process of smirking. But it is _such a cute smirk, _gosh-darnit! "Thanks!"

"Sure," he says, breezily, a sparkle of amusement in his eye.

Katara wonders if it's fair that she has now made a fool of herself _twice_ in front of her Soulmate. He holds out the cups to her, and she takes them—_ohmyGOD, their hands touch—_gives him a strained grin, before shuffling over to where Suki is sitting.

She does not know how what happens next...even happens. There is a deity Up Above that has her name on the top of their shit list, there is _no doubt in her mind. _

Because whilst making the short trek towards the tables, she _trips over the flat surface of the floor, _sending the coffee flying. She lands in an unceremonious, unattractive heap; because the New Worst Half Minute of her life is incomplete, she gets hit by not one, but _two _(thankfully, iced) caffeinated beverages, the liquid clinging to her hair, her face, and her _brand new jeans_.

Ugh.

Katara _officially _wants to die.

She kind of just stays on the ground for a while, waiting for it to swallow her up, when she hears footsteps, and then True Love (okay, she really needs to stop that)—_Zuko _is at her side, napkin in one palm, his other hand helping her up.

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding concerned. Which is a little disconcerting, because Katara is sure that he probably thinks she is annoying. "Er, here, let me help—"

Katara remains perfectly still as her True Love proceeds to _wipe the coffee off of her face with a napkin. _And she _totally _does not imagine the way he lingers at her lips. Totally.

From her peripheral vision, she sees Suki, half-out of her chair, as if she had been ready to spring up and help her but thought otherwise and decided to leave it all to True Love.

Katara knew that Suki was her Best Friend for a reason.

"Um." Suddenly, Zuko is several feet away, looking extremely awkward. "Sorry, um, here, you can have the napkin, I mean, er, no—I'll go get you a clean one. And new drinks. _Right_."

Katara can only watch as her True Love fetters away, and can't help but think: _What the heck just happened?_

* * *

**4:17 PM**

"He's in _love with you," _Suki tells her, dabbing away at the coffee/latte/chai concoction in her hair with a water-slick napkin. Katara shudders, she _really _needs to take a shower. "It's so _obvious. _He was staring at you like you were some kind of goddess, even though you were drenched in grossness."

Katara gives her a look that says _Shut the heck up, _because her True Love is _just in the back _and can likely hear everything that is being said.

"I doubt it, though," she whispers to Suki. "He probably just wants me out of here."

Suki rolls her eyes. "_Sure_."

* * *

**4:23 PM**

Five minutes later, the shop is packed again, and Suki and Katara are walking out, caffeine in hand.

"That was a bust," Katara moans, not enjoying the disgusting, sticky state she is in. "I'm never going there again."

"There, there," Suki soothes. She outstretches a hand, as if to comfort her, but thinks better of it and withdraws a moment later, because _Katara is still ickily covered in coffee_.

Woe.

* * *

**4:34 PM**

"OH MY TUI AND LA!"

* * *

**4:35 PM**

It is not until she gets home that Katara notices the phone number scrawled in sharpie on the clear, empty cup:

555-675-9845

_You _did _look like a goddess, even with the coffee spilled all over you._

* * *

**5:00 PM**

After a half-hour _straight _of squealing on the phone with Suki, Katara decides that maybe her life doesn't suck so badly, after all.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Tried something a little new/HOPEFULLY funny. Let me know what you think in a review!

Also, should the next oneshot be funsy or sad? P:


	3. the distance between us

**chapter title: **the distance between us

**prompt: **#11 life

**setting: **after the war.

**word count: **430

**summary: **For a moment, they are lips and teeth and locked office doors, and amber-eyed waterbender children and Fire Lady Katara and Fire Lord Zuko, and a life they both long for but will never, ever have.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

Sometimes, when she is visiting the Fire Nation, and the sun is still dull and the sky blushes dawn-light, she slips into his office and just lets words spill from her lips; she tells him of life in the Water Tribe, of life with Aang, always traveling, always missing faces and places, of a life where she only really has slips of memories and faded whispers in her mind, of a life that fits her all wrong, a life that is too loose around her feet and too rigid round her heart.

And he listens. He always listens, which is why she tells him. He always listens and she always coaxes him to tell her about the state of Fire Nation affairs, about the arranged engagement to Mai, about how he does not want to become his father and how he wants the world to look past the scar on his face and the cursed blood in his veins.

And she mends. _They already have_, she tells him. _Zuko, you are a new light in this world._

Sometimes, they get too close. Sometimes, her fingers glance over the brittle rouge of his scarred cheek, a reminder of what could have been. Sometimes, it matters, sometimes, she backs away and he clears his throat and her eyes go blank and his heartbeat quakes, but this time, for a moment, their lives do not come between them. She has been speaking about a visit to the Earth Kingdom and ends up perched on his desk, breaths away from him, and then he dips down and they are lips and teeth and locked office-doors and—

amber-eyed waterbender-children and moonlit, early-morning kisses and ice-fire weddings and Fire Lady Katara and Fire Lord Zuko and a life they both long for but will never, ever have.

Katara pulls away first; her mouth tastes like an apology as she steps onto the ground and struggles with the knob of the door—_I_ _can't let this happen, can't let you throw everything away, _she sobs—and Zuko cannot reach her, but tries:

_I've lived a life of regrets, but you'd never be one_, he murmurs. _I love you._

_I believe you, _she says back, _I love you. This—_She signals between them—_is so, so right, but the world will never let a life shared between the two of us be anything but wrong._

_Katara—wait. _And he rushes after her as she walks out the door—

(Zuko knows it is goodbye when she looks back once, and there is nothing in the sea-porcelain of her eyes)

—and out of his life.

* * *

**AN: **

A short, depressing drabble :(

Next one will probs be happy because WHO KNEW that fluff is fun to write.

Please please PLEASEE review? ^_^

~Nora


	4. skin on skin

**title: **skin on skin

**words: **430

**setting: **a week or so before Sozin's Comet. On Ember Island.

**prompt**: #15 hands

**summary: **Katara's hands are not soft; Zuko learns this a week before the comet.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

Katara's hands are not soft.

Zuko learns this a week before the comet.

"You look tense," she tells him, after he finishes practicing with Aang. At his confused look, her lips split into a grin. "C'mon, get over here."

She's sitting on the top stair-step of the Ember Island beach-house, patting down on the dip below, motioning for him to sit. With a sheepish smile, he plops down, spine straight and rigid as he _tries _not to lean back into her.

"You need to unwind," she says, matter-of-factly, pulling him back. He's suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he's _not _wearing a shirt and that her small, dove-like hands are kneading at the small of his back. He feels her callouses, imprinting themselves into the scarred lines of his own skin, and it takes all of him to swallow the moan in his throat.

"Aang still needs to perfect firebending," he hears himself say. He's quite proud of himself; it's pretty difficult to speak coherently when a pretty—no, _beautiful _girl—is giving you a massage. This time, she wets her fingers with streaks of healing-water, cooling him to the bones. "There really isn't much time for me to 'unwind'." He throws her a wry smirk, over his shoulder.

Her palms circle the spot between his shoulder-blades, and he almost cringes. His back is always sore from practicing bending positions—not to mention the ways he has had to contort himself for the Dancing Dragon.

But no pain comes. Only the feel of cool, rough, yet gentle hands, smoothing the pain from his skin.

Katara laughs. "You need to trust me." She pauses, working at one of his more twisted muscles, before speaking again, voice breathy. Thin. "You do, don't you?"

Zuko almost balks; she thought that _he _didn't trust _her_? Was she okay? "Katara," he rasps, turning to face her. It's sort of an awkward angle, but hey, he's pretty awkward himself. "Of _course _I trust you. I trust you more than almost anyone else. Period."

Katara angles her face to the side, and he sees a stubborn pout on her lips. For a moment, she looks deep in thought, and then her mouth loosens into a kind smile and her eyes sparkle like the ocean only steps away from them.

She seems satisfied with his answer. "Good," is all she says. She works at his shoulders for a little longer, before finally announcing. "Alright, you're all set! Mr. Jerkbender, consider yourself officially _relaxed._"

It's sort of his cue to go. He knows that.

But he doesn't move.

And her hands linger.

* * *

**AN:**

FLUFF. It's so much fun to writeeee. So. Much. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.

Please review? I update faster if you do :D


	5. if that mockingbird don't sing

**title: **if that mockingbird don't sing

**prompt: **#17 lullaby

**setting: **pre-Southern Raiders, post-Southern Raiders, and the finale.

**word-count: **870**  
**

**summary: **The last thing Zuko hears is his favorite lullaby in Katara's voice.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

The storm outside is loud and rumbling; the thunder bellows and claps and the lightning makes Katara's eyes go white and she wants nothing more than for it to _end_.

She is rinsing the dinner-dishes: four, chipped, porcelain-rimmed plates. Her bending-water glances over the old, rice-white dishes, before she lines them up on the counter. The fifth plate lies off to the side, gleaming and clean; Zuko had taken care of his own a while ago.

She'll never admit it aloud, but she appreciates—not _him—_but the things he does. He cleans up after himself. He never forces her to do something he is capable of on his own. She doesn't have to play house-maid for him, at least, and for that, she is grateful.

But there is something else she feels for him, more deep-rooted and unshakable than this newfound tolerance. It isn't quite hatred anymore, but it is something close; so, when she hears him murmuring from Toph's room, she storms down the hall, china-bowls forgotten, water smooth as dreams as it lines her palms, circles her fingers, kisses her nail-beds, as she stands in the doorway—

"...I can't sleep, Sparky," she hears Toph whisper. "I'm...scared."

It's jarring enough for the water to go slack in Katara's grip; Toph is _never _vulnerable. Toph _never_ admits to her weaknesses. Toph is concrete. She is not pliable like the earth she bends.

"I'll stay here if you want, squirt," comes Zuko's voice. It's a low, throaty sound, and sends shivers down the waxen angle of Katara's spine. "And don't worry. The storm's gonna let up soon."

Katara feels like she is intruding when Toph murmurs, "Thanks," almost shyly, before asking, delicately, tinnily, "But—will you sing me...a lullaby? M-my mom used to do that. When I..."

"...Sure," Zuko says, and she almost can't hear him when he adds, gently, "But I only know one. My Uncle—" Katara hears a sharp intake of breath. "—used to sing it all the time."

"I'm sure Pops has a great voice," Toph laughs, shakily.

"Yeah...he does," Zuko's tone is sad, wistful. Longing. Ashamed. Katara is glad she cannot see his face, because she knows it would have been the end of her. She _always _gave in too easily, when it came to him—

"_Leaves, on the vine, falling so slow_—"

Toph snorts, "You sound horrible."

"—shut up. Ahem_; like fragile, tiny shells, drifting on the foam. Little soldier boy, comes marching home. Brave—_"

"But thanks...Zuko," the blind girl interjects.

Katara slips down the hall; she feels as if she has pried enough, as if she has stolen into the naked, shard of a moment that she was not welcome to.

As she rushes away, she hears him finish:

"—_soldier boy, comes marching home._"

X

It's a pretty song. Melancholic, but lovely. The words, the melody—they drown in his voice and streak Katara's thoughts, like a music-box murmuring at the back of her mind.

Weeks later, after she and Zuko have returned from confronting Yon Rha and she has warmed up to the scarred, prince of a boy who has wound his way into her heart, she finds herself humming the lullaby under her breath, as she swipes _five _dinner-plates clean.

"_Brave soldier boy_," she sings, in her heady soprano. "_comes marching home_."

She begins to open the cupboards when she hears a loud clap, and Zuko's trilling rasp:

"You have a beautiful voice."

X

He's coughing up blood. His insides are falling into themselves, like little, scorched houses of cards, and she can barely breathe. She's slick with tear-water: in her throat, in her eyes, in her lungs, in her _heart—_she doesn't want to lose him, not after all he's done for her. She can't let him fall now, she cannot let him disappear, become ashes in the wind, a memory, a what-if-maybe, all because he was so, so, _stupid, _all because he took _lightning for her—_

"...Katara."

She ignores him, pumps more water into the red, scarlet lips of the wound on his stomach. Azula is screeching from somewhere behind her. She ignores that, too. She needs to focus—

"_Katara." _His tone is insistent for someone who's barely alive.

Katara almost crumples at the thought.

"_What_?" she shrills, pitchy and broken and _knowing _that she's lost him. "Zuko, you can't—you can't do this, don't tell me to give up—_"_

"I'm not," he rasps, and she stares down at him, waiting, healing dead blood and dead skin and an almost-dead boy. "I-I want you to do something...for me. P-please...?"

She can't give up. She _won't. _

But she can't deny him, either. She _always _gave in too easily.

"Okay..." she replies. "Okay. Anything—"

"...Sing for me?"

He sounds so young. And then, she remembers that he is. Zuko's only a _boy, _after all.

"I—" she swallows the tears. "I only know one song."

His lips bleed as they split into a grin at her mirror-words.

(_he knew she had been there that night. all along. all along—_)

"It's a-alright." His voice is hoarse. Like there isn't enough air inside of the words. "Y-you have... a beautiful voice, Katara."

She's crying, when she sings—

"_Brave... soldier boy, comes m-marching..."_

His last words: "Thank you, Katara."

"..._home._"

* * *

**AN:**

ANGST! This chapter is dedicated to Dr. Phalange, for all of her thoughtful, kind reviews. And her love of angst.

Thank you SO much to all of my readers, however! Ahh, I'm so surprised this is getting so many reviews. Just THANK YOU!

Reviews with your thoughts and opinions make my day. Thank you!

~Nora


	6. see you in the next life

**title: **see you in the next life

**prompt: **#23 afterlife

**word-count: **1900

**setting: **AU, but can be connected to canon...kind of.

**summary: **During the last few days of her summer vacation, at a party, Katara meets the boy she falls in love with during every lifetime.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

"_We'll meet again."_

* * *

Her time with him is sort of a blink-and-you-missed-it ordeal.

She's sixteen, and her best friend Suki has dragged her along to one of those too-loud, over-crowded, sweat-salt-skin-on-skin sort of parties that she most definitely is _not _a fan of. But it's the last week of summer before school starts up again, and she's staying at her Gran-Gran's beach-house with Suki and Sokka for the next few days, and she _knows _that she needs to loosen up a little. So here she is, strappy heels, midnight-blue lace-dress and all.

"Where's Sokka?" she hears Suki shrill, over the music. "He came in with us, and now he's gone!"

Katara rolls her seaglass eyes. "Probably doing something he shouldn't be. But, you know him, he'll be okay."

Hopefully.

"I'll look for him," Suki says, already weaving through the crowd. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone!"

"Wait—" Katara's words taper off; Suki's brown bob is barely visible in the roomful of people. She's alone.

Only, not really. The accidental-elbow-jab to her side and the stink of whiskey-stained breath testify as much.

Katara huffs moodily; why couldn't this stupid party have been _outside_? Or_ something_. She'd rather get bitten by mosquitoes and whatever-the-heck else lurks throughout summer nights than get second-hand drunk. If that could even happen._ Ugh. _

Frustrated, she scans the crowd for a familiar face, and sighs when there is no one. She contemplates just sneaking out and calling her brother and Suki later, but decides against it, when she remembers that Sokka has the car-keys.

Woe.

From her peripheral vision, she catches sight of what looks to be an _empty couch _in the corner of the room. There aren't many people around there, and she feels her feet move on their own accord.

"I can't believe I came to this stupid thing," she grumbles under her breath, as she storms to the sofa. "I'm just going to come out of it half-deaf and smelling like a bottle of—"

Oh.

Katara clears her throat; apparently, she needs to get her eyes checked. Because sitting in front of her, right on her Holy Grail Sofa, is a boy. She only sees his profile: narrow and pale, with long, bruise-black lashes, an angled jaw and a straight nose. She finds herself staring at him, transfixed, as she awkwardly asks:

"Um—do you mind if I sit here?"

He doesn't turn to face her, but nods. "Go ahead."

Katara tries not to bristle at his rudeness, because, _hello,_ he isn't even looking at her. Containing herself, she sits as far away as possible from him, fingers playing with the hem of her party-dress.

The boy doesn't say a word to her, and she wonders if she has just encroached on his personal space, or something; he looks stiff and pouty and moody and just—

It's all so _awkward._

She silently prays for Suki and Sokka to find her and for them to _leave. _But because she knows that no deity would ever be so kind for her, she settles for Small Talk.

"Hi." Her voice is high and a little pitchy with nerves. She turns to him fully, holding out her hand. "I'm Katara."

The amber of his eyes slides towards her, and she swears she sees something like hesitance in there before he—reluctantly—cranes his neck and faces her.

She sees _red—_not just in his shirt but in his skin, _on _his skin, knotting over one side of his face and half-closing his eye and streaking over the shell of his ear. She feels guilt seep inside of her as her eyes widen and he gives her a long, measured look.

"Zuko." He sounds hoarse, like he hasn't spoken to anyone in a long, long time.

It kind of breaks her heart a little.

Her lips part into a small smile; she withdraws her untouched hand, and finds her voice. "Nice to meet you."

He looks taken aback. "...Same."

His eyes look less heavy, but he seems to fold back into himself after that, looking moody as ever as he turns away.

That won't do.

Luckily, Katara's mouth does the work for her:

"So, Zuko," she starts, inching towards him. "Do you like coffee?"

* * *

They're walking on the sand, feet bare; her sandals are dangling from her hands, and he's holding his own shoes.

"This is _so _much better than that gross party!" She breathes in the night air. "Mmm, I thought I would suffocate in there. Anyway, my _favorite _café on the island is just this way. It's called The White Lotus."

"Hn." Zuko just watches her, and follows quietly in that lackluster yeah-we-just-met kind of way; or maybe, she thinks, it's the tall-dark-and-brooding-doesn't-usually-show-emotion-slash-speak kind of way.

She wants to find out.

But, really, Katara has _no _idea what she is doing, alone with some random guy she met at a party, dragging him along for a coffee date during the odd hours of the night. But there's something _about _him. Something familiar, something broken, something _beautiful—_something hidden, something she'll have to work for if she ever wants to see it.

And she does.

"You don't say much," she blurts, as they trail downhill. And because she speaks faster than she thinks, she adds, "You're pretty...different."

Katara means it as a compliment, but he stiffens behind her. She turns, questioning, and sees his hand drifting to the marred side of his face.

_Oh._

"Zuko, no, I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." Zuko's shoulders are hunched, and his voice is hollow. "I'm used to it. You don't need to apologize."

Katara feels anger boil inside of her as she screeches, "Of _course _I do!" She isn't even thinking anymore as she pries his hand away from his face, clamping it in her own grasp. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Honest. I meant it like—" She realizes that he isn't even _looking at her_. Again. "—you're quiet. Thoughtful. You ditched a party and came along with me for a midnight coffee run even though it sounds certifiably insane _and _you just met me. Not enough guys are like that. _That's _what I meant. And if you _dare _think otherwise, I'll kick you into the ocean! Got it?"

It's one of those I-was-too-caught-up-screaming-and-didn't-notice-the-awkward-positioning kind of moments. She's panting, hard, pressed up against him, with his hand in hers and his breath in her lungs and _she just met him _but she wants to lean in. She really, really wants to.

Gently, he pulls back. The spell is broken. "What _do_ you want?" he asks, and he sounds vulnerable. "From me?"

"I don't know," she tells him, honestly.

It's enough of an answer.

They move forward.

* * *

She sees Zuko again on the beach, the next day.

Suki and Sokka have officially 'grounded her' for Scaring The Shiznit (Sokka's word) Out Of Them when she came home at 2 A.M. after her coffee not-really-date with Zuko.

Luckily for her, they're still snuggling up back at the house. And, Gran-Gran didn't really seem to mind; she gave her a thumbs-up on her way out.

Ha. Katara: 1, Sukka: 0.

A volleyball match is ending and she sees Zuko walking away from the net; snickering, she creeps up from behind him and latches onto his back, knobby arms wrapped around his waist.

"Hiya, Zuko!" she yells, giggling brightly. "Good morning!"

"K—Katara?" he sputters, and she doesn't let go or stop laughing. "What are you _doing_?"

She _knows _she's being ridiculous, childish, _crazy_, but it all just—

It feels familiar.

"Saying hi," she tells him, moving her arms so that they lace around his neck. "I don't know. I just feel really happy—" She blushes, and is glad he can't really see it. "—seeing you."

She _feels _him loosen. Feels old, broken knots inside of him unwind. "Me, too."

* * *

There's a different boy—no, a different-but-the-same-boy—hidden deep inside of Zuko.

Katara learns this a night later; they're both carrying flashlights as she plucks shells from the sand. There's no one else on this side of the beach; it's like the two of them are in their own, separate, private universe, a little sanctuary.

Then again, it always feels like that with him.

"My mom used to love those ones," he says of the conch-pink shell in her palm. "I made her a necklace out of one a long time ago."

Part of her wants to press further, but the other part says, "Ooh, Zuko, never took you for an arts-and-crafts kind of guy."

He blushes, the starlight spilling over the rose-tones of his skin. "I'll make you one—um, if you want."

In that moment, she knows that she loves him. It's stupid, and she's probably too young and they've only known each other for _three days, _but Katara _knows this, _like she knows the feel of her mother's necklace on her throat and the sound of Sokka's laughter. She _knows_ it, feels it deep in her bones. It's like a part of her soul has just finally filled itself; it's like she was born to meet him.

It's like she's loved him all her life.

"I'd _love _one," she says, stepping closer to him.

* * *

She doesn't know his mother's name, if she's _even alive, _doesn't know his favorite color, how old he is, how he got his scar, where he lives, what he wants to do with his life, if _he_ loves _her._

But she knows the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands in her hair and the shape of her name in his throat. She knows how he is when he is upset, how his lips pull back into a scowl, how he moans when she touches his scar, how he likes her hair when it's down, how he chases her on the beach when she calls on an impromptu game of tag.

Katara knows that she's known him.

She knows all of this in five days, five days that feel like five lifetimes.

Now, he's walking her back to the beach-house; she's leaving the next morning, and neither of them want to face what's coming next.

Because they both know.

* * *

"Zuko?" she asks, when her house is coming into view.

"Hm?"

"Can you feel it?" She feels foolish, but he looks down her and nods.

"Yeah."

"We're never going to see each other again, are we?"

He's silent, before pressing a kiss onto her temple and saying, "Probably not. But—but we'll meet again."

_Somewhere else. In a new world._

_A new lifetime._

"How do you know that?"

_It's already happened._

"I just do."

A beat of silence. "I'm sorry I'm leaving you, Zuko."

"You're not." His grip on her grows tender. "I—I left you first, I think."

_A long, long time ago. Broken, fire-bent heartbeats and a sobbing, water-palmed girl._

"Hm." She tries not to cry. "I love you."

_Always have. Always will._

"I love you too, Katara."

"And—and I'll never forget you."

_I never did._

"It's okay if you do. This is enough for me."

"No, it's not."

"...Caught me."

Silence, as they stand in front of her house.

"So, this is it?"

"...For now."

"Yeah. For now."

* * *

**AN:**

I've written something with a similar concept, called _everlasting, _but this is a bit different. Angsty yet hopeful.

Thanks to all of my readers, again!

And remember, I LOVELOVELOVE when you review :)

~Nora


	7. set you free

**title: **set you free

**prompt: **#7 go

**setting: **AU. Katara is the daughter of a politician, Zuko is a hitman.

**summary: **Katara, and the boy that will be her killer. "You're going to kill me." Her voice is hard, the sea in the winter.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

Katara is half-asleep.

The cool, china-silk covers of her bed are tangled at her ankles; her hair is in knotty tufts and mascara is clouding her lashes. The party that night was a bust: all haughty, important businessmen and politicians, wide with greed, and their stuffy, heir-children, dressed to the nines with nothing but gold and diamonds in their eyes.

She knows Sokka hates going, too, and that he only cares for the food, and the snappy glimpses he might get of Yue, daughter of one of the most important textile manufacturers in the world.

She would give _anything _to free her nights of cocktail-dresses and judgment and grievances; but _her father _is the leader of the Water Country, one of the world's four, divided nations.

She can _never _be normal.

Wrapped up in her thoughts, she barely hears the rustling of the wind, the screech of the window—

There are footsteps, and the alarm-bells go off in her head:

A hand slaps over her mouth before she can scream.

X

He is angles: harsh elbows, craning out of the black cloth of his suit, thin, piano fingers, cold and calculating, and the sharp jawbone, jutting out of the mask, the blue_blue_ mask, the nuance she would always connect with comfort and familiarity and sea-foam lapping at her toes—

Now, she feels nothing.

"You're going to kill me." Her voice is hard, the sea in the winter. "Or, am I a ransom?"

He stands at the door, saying nothing, and a rush of hatred seeps through her. She glares up at him, from where she is curled up near some old, cheap mattress, and he stares back, through that hollow, river-bone mask.

"What," she hisses, spitefully. "Do you want from me? My _family_?"

He remains silent, sliding the door open and walking out.

She's locked in.

X

When she wakes up, she finds a porcelain-bowl of rice at her side.

She throws it at the door, delighting in the ugly, screeching _crack._

X

Katara spends her days crying.

But it is silent; the tears are more whispers than water, and all she can do is wrap her thin, hungry arms around herself, tightly, brokenly hoping that she can fold her body small enough so that she can just _disappear._

She sobs gossamer, and wonders if he can hear.

X

She tries to escape, working the lock of her room with one of the thin, star-white shards of her plate from days before.

She runs, like she never has before, legs pumping, breath breaking—

He's waiting at the end of the hall.

X

She calls him The Blue Spirit; he's only a ghost of the color of her home. Not human. Not a person. Just empty.

X

"Why don't you just _do _it already?" she screams at him. "Is this a _game _to you? Is it fun?"

Silence.

"I hate you." She swallows the tears in her throat. "Because of you, my father will _never _be able to help fix this messed up world. My brother won't have a sister. Because of _you, _I'll never—" She hiccups. "—fall in love. I'm eighteen, and I'm done for. All because _you _are letting yourself be controlled, because you can't think for yourself, because _you're going to kill me_!"

He stands there, quiet, as if in thought, but she knows better.

He leaves a moment later.

X

The Blue Spirit doesn't come in for a few days.

She wonders how much blood he has on his hands.

X

Katara dreams of her mother.

"I'll see you soon," she tells her.

X

"Why?" she asks him. She is a shell of herself, all bones and tears and week-old makeup. "Why are you doing this?"

He hesitates, and for a moment, she thinks that maybe, _maybe _he will speak.

He doesn't.

X

The next morning, she finds a piece of paper, slipped under her door.

It says, _My father, _and she thinks she might just understand.

X

It's time.

Katara can feel it in her bones. She doesn't know how long she's been here, but she knows that this is the end.

"Take off your mask," she commands him, as regally as any girl of her status. "I don't want to die like this. Please."

He stiffens, and she knows she's lost him. His hands rise, slowly, and he's going to strike her, _she knows it—_

His hands, thin and birdlike, move to untie the mask.

X

He is young, with tree-amber eyes and blackbird lashes. Skin white as moonmilk. He is nothing like The Blue Spirit, not calm or cold or calculating; he is thin with nerves and fear and he looks like he has no _idea _what he is doing.

And, Katara thinks, he probably doesn't.

What catches her eye, though, is the blaring, wide scar, that takes up half of his face; part of the brittle, comet-shape is obscured by the black of his hair, but Katara still feels something like pity pool inside of her, even if it is for the boy who will take her life.

"Your father?" she asks, even though she _knows_.

His eyes snap to her, with something like shock, something like gratitude, and she bows her head.

"Okay," she murmurs. "I'm—I'm ready."

She isn't.

X

She feels him come closer, closer, and screws her eyes shut; she can smell his breath, hot and sharp, and she wants nothing more than for it all to be over—

—_Bye, Dad, bye Sokka, I love you_—her mind speaks, as she waits for the blow.

Nothing touches her, only the single word:

"Go."

X

The door is wide open when she dares open her eyes.

He—The Blue Spirit, the boy, her kidnapper, her killer, her _savior_—is gone.

And Katara doesn't know what to feel when she runs.

* * *

**author's notes:  
**

LOL this is a weird oneeee. haha.

reviews are loved, as usual!

also, would you prefer a happy or sad ficlet next? let me know.


	8. everything you are

**title: **everything you are

**prompt**: #3 grateful

**wordcount: **1205

**setting: **season three. Their time at the Western Air Temple, before and after Southern Raiders.

**summary: **Five times Zuko makes Katara feel grateful. S3.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

"You're kidding me, right?"

Aang shakes his head sagely, unperturbed by her harsh tone. "Katara, this will help you get along with Z—"

"I don't _want _to get along with him," she cuts him off, and tries not to wince at how childish she sounds. "I _hate_ him."

"You don't mean that." Aang looks up at her, patience in his voice.

"Yes, I _do_," she huffs, even though the airbender is mostly right. She hates what Zuko's _done, _not exactly who he _is, _but at the moment, he doesn't deserve the differentiation.

"Anyway." He ignores her words, and Katara can't help but notice how often he does that. "It's not too hard; all you have to do is write down _five _things Zuko's done that have made you grateful. The monks used to do this all of the time; it was really effective in ending any arguments or breaks in friendship..."

Katara cannot hear him over the _screaming _in her head. She can't do this. She can't do this. Shecan'tdothis—

Aang hands her a piece of paper, shyly, with a bright smile on his face, and she doesn't have the heart to tell him anything other than:

"Fine."

X

_I wish Zuko would just jump off of a bridge, five times, in succession, _Katara muses to herself, _It would make this whole gratitude list a lot easier._

She's making dinner when he slips into the kitchen, twirling a small, string of fire from his finger-tips. She musters up her best scowl, and hardens her eyes as he approaches.

(Katara has to admit that he has gotten pretty good at reeling in those emotions; he barely winces.)

"What do _you _want?" she asks lowly, phrasing the word 'you' like she had said 'vermin' or 'sea-sludge'.

Zuko doesn't quite smile, but she catches something strange in his eye when he says, "Er, nothing."

She deliberately turns away from him, continuing on with preparing dinner. He eyes her for a little while longer as she struggles with cutting a small, fist of meat with a dull, whale-tooth knife, before finally saying, "Here, let me do that for you."

She freezes up as he gently places her hands to the side, takes the knife from her hand, and cuts the meat into three, thick, even slices.

"There," he says, and he is about to walk away when she finds herself blurting:

"Why didn't you cut four pieces?" She feels her neck flush red. "You eat meat, too. Don't you want any?"

"Yeah." Zuko throws her a light smile. "But I thought it'd be best if I'd earned my keep. I'm fine with whatever's left."

Katara can only watch, speechless, as he walks away.

X

Reluctantly, she writes:

01. _He's helpful._

She crumples the paper beneath her bedcovers, where no one will find it.

X

The Western Air Temple is _freezing. _

High altitude does not equal high temperatures, and Katara finds herself trying to stop her teeth form chattering and her bones from rattling from the cold. It's not like home, where she wears furs and hoods and gloves; she's got nothing but a misty dress that doesn't even touch the hollows of her elbows.

It's not pleasant.

"You okay?" comes a raspy voice, and Katara stiffens.

"I'm fine," she says, curtly, tangling her fingers into the ends of her hair, in hopes of warming them. She debates going to her room, but knows that the chilled, night-air will creep through the gauze of her window, and decides to stay in the temple's living area for a while longer.

"...Alright." He sounds unconvinced, but doesn't press further, and soon walks out, leaving her alone—

—with the fireplace glowing warmly in his wake.

X

That night:

_02. He's considerate. I guess._

X

Her hair is a mess.

They are eating breakfast, and Katara is hopelessly running her fish-bone comb through the sleep-tangle of her hair, to no avail. The knots just won't come out. She _knows _that she should have kept in in a braid, but she liked leaving it down to curl, to warm the skin of her neck—

She hears a _snap, _and the room goes silent as her hand emerges with only half of a comb, the other caught in in her hair.

Sokka can barely breathe as he guffaws: "Woah, Katara, maybe we can use your _hair _as a weapon against Ozai!"

Aang is chuckling. "It kinda reminds me of when Appa is shedding. Or a bird-bee's nest." When he catches the venomous look in her eyes, he adds, "But prettier! A _lot _prettier!"

Toph can't really see, but joins in on the laughter, and Katara feels her blood boil. It's _not _funny! She's a fourteen year old girl; hair is a sensitive subject. So, maybe it's a little bushy and all, but she most _definitely _does not like her own tresses being compared to sky-bison fur and weapons.

She's prepared to storm out of the room, when, out of nowhere, Zuko pipes up, "I think it looks nice." Katara's eyes trail to him, incredulous, before he adds, "My Uncle used to say, 'if a woman's hair is strong and beautiful, it only shows that none of her is weak'."

If Zuko were anyone else, she would have kissed him.

But because Zuko _is _still Zuko, she settles for giving him an extra helping of moon-peach custard and tries not to let her thoughts linger on the fact that he called—_some _part of her—beautiful.

X

_03. He can be nice. Sometimes._

X

Katara _could _have finished the stupid gratitude list weeks earlier, but she has decided against it for her own strange reasons; it would almost be like a chapter of her 'relationship' with Zuko, the one between 'Zuko vs. Katara' and 'Zuko and Katara', would be over.

She likes trying to find the good in people. She likes looking for the good in Zuko, even though, lately, it doesn't take much searching to see it.

After their confrontation with Yon Rha, after he sees her blood-bend and says nothing of it, after he lets her do what she needs to do throughout their weird, cathartic (_her tears on his neck, he sobs in his shoulder_) journey, she can fully say that she is grateful for his lack of judgment.

X

The list is still incomplete, even though, in all honesty, she's already been grateful for a million and one things he's done, or said, or _whatever, _since the whole ordeal came into motion.

To be honest, she sort-of-kind-of forgets about it for a while; the sheet of paper, moon-creased and worn, lies folded on her nightstand. It seems almost silly, trivial; she doesn't need it anymore, to clock down the things Zuko has done for her. He doesn't need to prove himself. Not anymore.

She doesn't write it down, but before they leave for Ember Island, when she wakes up, trembling from a nightmare of loss and ashes and mothers, and he lets her stay in his room for the night and presses a kiss to her temple and holds her as she angles herself into his arms, she is grateful that he is who he is.

And grateful that he's here, with her, and not anywhere else.

* * *

**AN:**

fluff-ish. i LOVE season 3 zutara. so. much.

also, just wondering, which setting for zutara do y'all prefer: AU, s1, s2, or s3?

i'll try to incorporate that shtufff.

as always, reviews are looooooooved.

~nora**  
**


	9. reaching you

**title: **reaching you

**prompt: **#18 untouchable

**word count: **1000

**setting: **Season Three, Ember Island.

**notes: **The section in italics is a flashback, juuuust so you don't get confused!

**summary: **She wants to know him because she cares. She wants to heal. She sees the breaks in him, and wants to mend them shut. She wants...him. S3.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

They're in the kitchen, and he's making fruit custard for after dinner—Fire Nation style, he declares—and she's trailing behind him, his blind, seeing shadow, her small fists balled at her sides. Katara is stirring a pot of soup, watching as they bicker.

"I wanna try some!" Toph pouts, crossing her arms. "Just one bite, Sparky, puh-_lease_!"

"You've got to wait, champ." She stomps her foot, and he sighs. "Fine, then. But just _one_; everyone else needs to get some, too."

Katara watches, amused, as he holds out the spoon for her to eat; Toph snatches it from his hands, devouring the dessert, before licking her lips approvingly, "I'm impressed, this stuff's great! Gimme more!"

The little girl waggles the spoon up his face; she misjudges their closeness, though, and ends up smearing some left-over custard onto Zuko's nose.

"Gross, Toph!" He takes the spoon from her and places it on the marble counter. "You got it on my face."

Katara swallows a laugh, as Toph prods on, "Oh, did I get some custard-wustard on the poor, pretty prince's face? Here, lemme help clean ya off, Flinty."

Toph reaches up, palm spreading over his face; he freezes as her hand glances over his nose and towards his ruined cheek—"Don't!"

She backs away, confused. "What d'ya men? I was just trying to help…"

"Just." His hands move to his temples, and Katara feels something tug at her heart as his hand covers his scar, almost protectively. "Don't. Sorry, I…I need to go."

Toph huffs, "What's up with him?"

Katara says nothing; she watches his back as he goes.

X

He avoids her and Toph for the next few days.

Katara ponders.

X

He is scars, he is cracks, he is walls; Katara learns Zuko like she had once learned to bend water. It is all-encompassing, it weaves into every angle of her mind; it drowns her, as she comes to find that there is always something more to him, something new, something old, something buried deeper than skin and soul. Always a story, a secret, a memory; Katara wants to know it all, wants to memorize the lines of him, the pieces that make him almost-whole.

She's drawn to him.

It starts out as something she would never admit; Zuko is the enemy, Zuko will be the end of her and the world's peace. And then he changes, back and forth, push and pull, not-quite-good and not-quite-evil, and she wonders at it, waits for whatever may come to break him, whatever will riddle him brittle and raw and exposed—whatever will un-shroud him, down to the bones.

(She doesn't quite know that it's already, always been _her. _That _she _is the reason he relents, yields rasping, shards of himself to her, as he whispers over the campfire and ocean-breath, telling her of his days with Azula, his uncle, his father. His mother. Never his scar, though. Never, ever his scar.)

But Katara is not stupid. Katara is not naïve; she is fourteen but lifetimes older and it does not take long for her to catch the looks, the red, plume-bright blushes and downcast, amber-eyes. And she knows she will not always be able to deny the clamminess in her palms, the stammer in her throat and the color of her heartbeat.

They grow tender. After they find her mother's killer, after she forgives him, they grow tender.

And then it—whatever _it _may be—shifts from something unexplainable to something softer, something pliable, gentle; she wants to know him because she cares. She wants to heal. She sees the breaks in him, and wants to mend them shut.

She wants to know him. She wants _him_.

X

_"What was she like?" __Katara asks. They're still at the Air Temple. _

_But things are different now._

_Zuko laughs. It sounds bitter. "Not like me." _

_She waits, and he continues, "She was kind. Beautiful. Everyone loved her."_

_Her hand finds itself on his shoulder. He melts into the touch, but she wonders if he understands the meaning._

_"In that case," she says, tone gentle. "You have a lot in common with your mother."_

_He doesn't look like he quite believes her words, but he leans in closer._

X

"How did…" She swallows, eyes trailing over the glow of the moon. They're sitting at the lip of the sea; the lamp-light of the Ember Island house is faraway and wispy. She _knows _she shouldn't, but the words spill, "Zuko, how did you get your scar?"

He stills. A sleeping sea, stagnant fire. "Katara…"

"I'm sorry!" she blurts, and then there is shame. She feels sick, stupid; she _is _nothing but a curious, silly girl. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking—it's just, we've been…" _Getting closer, _she wants to say, but she knows she isn't close enough.

Sometimes, Zuko seems untouchable. Like she'll never reach him, no matter what she does.

He is not cruel, but he is not gentle when he asks, hollowly, "Why do you want to know?"

His hands are on the red, spill of skin, and she has so much to say, but does not know the words.

"I…" Her voice is breathy, like a whisk of moonlight, a glance of the wind, as she leans towards him. He stiffens as her fingers come to cradle his wrist, moving his hand away from his face. "I want…"

He is still rigid, but complies with her touch, and she wonders if she's reached him.

It's like she's testing new waters; she inches closer, closer, until her lips are a fairy-touch away from his skin—and then, delicately, tenderly, she presses a kiss onto the mangled, brittle skin of his scar.

His breath hitches, his eyes flutter shut, and then: "…K-Katara?" She pulls back, experimentally, but she is still so, so close, and his voice weaves into her as he asks, "What are you—I—_why_?"

"I'm not sure," she finally says. "But it felt right."

She doesn't jump when his hand finds hers. She twists her fingers into his—cross-stiches of destiny—and smiles.

They don't speak.

_For now_, Katara thinks, _this is enough._

* * *

**_AN:_ **I don't know how I feel about this one. It seemed better in my head...

Anyway, many of you guys said you preferred S3 Zutara, so I decided to deliver. In the near future, I'll make a season 2 one, and a season 1 chapter. Because I loooooove you all. :)

Let me know how you liked this in a review ^_^

~Nora


	10. prison of bones

**title: **prison of bones

**prompt: **#25 parade (pleaseeee excuse my total BS on this one haha)

**word count: **920

**setting: **Season 1. Zuko catches the Gaang.

**summary: **Katara is resigned to the dungeons of the Fire Nation, after Prince Zuko succeeds in capturing the Avatar. And Zuko is there, on the other side of the bars, all the while, as she slowly descends into madness. S1.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

Katara shivers.

It is cold in her cell; the walls are stone and there is no sunlight in the air. It is only a frail, whispery sort of atmosphere, and it doesn't quite fill her lungs; she can barely speak, can barely see—_there's no water in her skin, her blood, her hands; she is brittle because they never give her enough—_but sometimes, if she tries hard enough, she can _hear. _

She is barely underground, she has been plunged _right_ beneath the searing surface of the Fire Nation; high enough so that sometimes, she can hear the rumble of caravans rolling over paved roads, of the trill of foot-soldiers barking faint, faraway orders and certain fire-princesses cackling maniacally—_perhaps the last one is her imagination getting carried away_—but she has nothing but her thoughts, swarming and misty, because she has been trapped for ages, since Aang was captured, since he was maybe-possibly-_killed, _since she and Sokka were shackled and tossed into cells like they were nothing but bags of water-bones.

Katara almost breaks at the memory—_Aang, unconscious, once glowing, once bright, now only a boy, a boy who had yet to waterbend, who only had the air he lived and breathed, who only had her and Sokka, who now had nothing, who now might be nothing—_and tries her best not to collapse into herself.

She needs to have hope. Hope that Sokka and Aang are alive and well, and that they'll escape, and that they'll all be fine—

But it's hard. Almost impossible.

She hasn't seen either of them since Prince Zuko had sealed their fate_._

It may have been days, months, weeks ago—but it feels as if a lifetime has passed.

* * *

"_Please,_" _she begs, on her knees. "Don't hurt him. He's only a boy. Please."_

_Prince Zuko's eyes are the ugliest shade of pity, as he stands outside of her makeshift cell on his ship. "I'm sorry, waterbender. His fate is out of my hands."_

"_Katara!" she screeches, rattling the bars weakly. If only she had water. She _needs _water. "My name is Katara, don't—" She swallows the hate in her throat, tone pleading. "I'll do anything. Anything you want."_

_She strikes a nerve; she can see the emotions shift over his face, but then, a moment later, he is stone._

"_I'm sorry, Katara."_

_He turns and leaves—_

* * *

Katara rubs her hands together; there is no warmth in the lines of her skin.

When she asks the guard what day it is, he ignores her.

* * *

Prince Zuko visits, on occasion.

She wonders if she's his personal charity-case. If to him, seeing her, dirty and worn and broken, is some sort of penance.

He's different from before. Less harsh. More human.

Not human _enough, _though.

"I've got everything I've ever wanted," he tells her. "My honor. My crown. My family."

She glares silently, before letting the words spill. "I hate you."

"...I know," he says at last. His eyes are clouded with something she cannot quite name, as he leans into the bars. "Katara, I'm sorr—"

Katara breaks.

"_You're not_!" she shrieks, springing upwards. "You're not, you're not, you're _not_! _Stay away from me—_I _hate_ you more than _anyone, _you _monster_!"

The guard snaps forward, but Zuko raises a hand to quell him.

A moment later, he leaves.

She wonders if he'll come back.

* * *

The next day (or week, or _month, _she'll never really know), from her stone-slip-of-a-cell, she can hear the faded sound of chants, of some foreign, slightly-beautiful, slightly-horrifying song—it's a tremulous, lilting soprano, so faint it's almost a whisper, but she can hear it—there are drums beating, low and alto and blaring in her bloated, thirsty bones, and there are voices and heavy, thick footsteps and—

It clicks. A parade. A celebration.

And then she stills. Falters. Because she is in the Fire Nation—and suddenly, she knows what the celebration is for.

It's as if a light inside of her has gone off.

_Aang. No, no, no, Aang—_

She forgets how to breathe.

* * *

Katara doesn't open her eyes for a long, long time.

* * *

When she does, she notices she has a new guard.

She asks about Aang.

"The Avatar? The airbender?" It's a woman's voice. "The Fire Lord had him killed years ago. The current Avatar is a waterbender-child. We have her, too."

Katara has no tears to shed.

Instead, she looks down at her hands.

She sees wrinkles that weren't there before.

* * *

The guards give her water sometimes.

She doesn't even try to bend it.

* * *

Prince Zuko visits the next day (or week, or month, or year).

He looks old. Old enough to be her father.

She almost doesn't recognize him.

"...Katara?" he asks. His voice still has that rasp.

She nods. "Prince Zuko."

She sounds hoarse. She hasn't spoken much since she was put in here. Since that day before the parade.

"Fire Lord Zuko," he corrects, after a long while, and Katara knows she should be alarmed, but there is no emotion left.

"Oh."

"I..." He trails off, swallowing. She absently watches his jaw work as he struggles with his words. The scar bends as he opens and closes his mouth. "You've been in here for... for twenty years, Katara. I've just become Fire Lord. And I'm here to set you free."

She remains silent, watches as he unlatches the lock, opens the bars, holds out his hand_._

"I won't hurt you." A beat. "I promise."

Katara doesn't believe him.

But she has nobody else.

So she follows.

* * *

**AN:**

What the eff is this?! I don't know. But I kinda like it. Sooo, consider it posted!

A S1, for all you fans of "dark and intriguing" zutara.

This is kinda mind-trippy and weird though, sooo, my apologies :(

Please review though? Love you guys ^_^

~nora


	11. halcyon days

**title:** halcyon days

**prompt:** #16 years

**setting: **AU. Sokka, Katara, Azula, and Zuko live mostly-normal lives and go to school and shtuff.

**word count: **2110

**summary:** Katara grows up as Zuko's little sister's best friend. As the years pass, she realizes she wants more. AU.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

**three and six.**

Katara meets Zuko like this:

"You can carry her, if you want." It sounds like her mother. Like honey.

"But don't drop her, sweetie." This voice is warm, like mornings, like sleep.

She remembers something bony enveloping her, and then something angled, maybe a chin—digging into the crown of her head. Her own screeches. Dark hair. Amber eyes.

He drops her.

* * *

**five and eight.**

Azula is weird.

She bites the heads off of her dolls and eats paper, sometimes.

But Katara likes her. She's Zuko's sister—just like _she _is Sokka's sister. They go to preschool together and go on the swings in the playgound.

(Azula always goes higher. It's not fair; Katara wants to beat her.)

Azula's mom makes yummy snacks. Almost as yummy as her Mommy's sea prunes. Katara knows this because they always go to Azula's house after school.

The two of them are Best Friends.

* * *

**seven and ten.**

"I hate boys."

Sokka pats her on the head, proud. "That's a good Katara. Very, very good Katara."

"You have cooties." Katara swats his hand away, and points at Zuko and beams. "Zuko's special though. He's not gross. I don't hate him."

From the corner of the room, Azula giggles. "Zuzu is icky, too, Katara. You're just nice because you loooooove him."

Katara reddens. "Do _not_!"

Sokka cackles a bit, as Azula goes on, "Katara and Zuzu, sitting in a tree—"

"Azula," Zuko warns, before turning to Katara, a sheepish smile on his face. "Don't worry. You know she can get like that sometimes."

Sokka joins in with Azula as they finish: "K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"What's going _on _up there?" Mommy asks from downstairs.

Katara can't help it; she bursts into tears.

"They're all—big—big _meanie heads_!" she wails. "_I hate you all_!"

* * *

**eight and eleven.**

Mommy is gone.

Dead.

She almost doesn't understand. She was there that morning, in her car, leaving for work. She made breakfast. Kissed her and Sokka on the cheek.

And then she disappeared. Died.

She wears a black dress, that day. And the necklace her Mommy used to wear.

It sparkles like a star from her throat.

Zuko and Azula come over, too.

Zuko hugs her when she cries.

* * *

**ten and thirteen.**

Zuko's in the hospital.

Katara is scared. The hospital reminds her of broken arms and stomachaches and when her Mommy died.

Nothing good.

Her Daddy drives her and Sokka to visit him, every day.

Zuko is never awake, though. He has bone-white bandages covering one side of his face.

Through her tears, Azula tells her that their dad—Ozai—did this to him. And that her Mommy is _divorcing _him and that he's going to jail.

Katara hates him. Hates him with all of her ten-year-old-soul.

It takes a few weeks before Zuko gets up. And then some more days before the bandages come off.

It looks like a comet. A comet made out of broken skin and tears and hurt and Katara cries at Zuko's bedside, and he turns away from her, hiding his scar, pained.

"You should go." His voice is hoarse. Raspy. "Leave me alone."

"You're still _you_," she tells him, but he doesn't quite seem to hear.

* * *

**eleven and fourteen.**

Katara doesn't even see the scar, anymore. But Zuko is still a little sensitive about it (even though she's spent _months _convincing him he's still the same old Zuko she's always cared about) so she never stares or looks at him for too long.

Zuko becomes her Second Best Friend, after Azula. So when she gets the flu, it ends up being _him _who brings her soup and thermometers and blankets, because apparently Sokka's out on a date with some girl name Yue or Ty Lee or whatever, and as Sokka's Best Friend, and her Second Best Friend, this is the least he can do.

"I look ugly!" She burrows into her pillows, hiding. "Don't look. _Pleaseeeeee_. I haven't washed my hair in, like, two days."

"You look _fine,_" he says, gently, and Katara feels a bit guilty, because she knows he's probably thinking about his scar or something.

When he hands her a spoonful of soup, she catches his wrist. "So do you."

They stay like that, for a while.

* * *

**thirteen and sixteen.**

Zuko gets his license first, much to Sokka's annoyance.

"Show off," her brother huffs. "With his stupid Mercedes that his stupid uncle got him and his stupid—"

Zuko smirks. "Keep insulting me and I'm not gonna drive you _anywhere." _

Katara is in the kitchen, reading the same page from her chapter-book for the fiftieth time. She is stock-still, hoping that he doesn't notice her. It's awkward, because over the summer, after some serious, gossip-filled sleepovers with Azula and Suki, she has come to the conclusion that Zuko is her Soulmate and that she is indeed In Love With Him.

It's a little much, for a girl of thirteen.

So when Zuko comes over to ruffle her hair before they leave, she kind-of-sort-of stops breathing.

"Later, Kat." He smiles as he and Sokka leave for some Boy Thing like buying food or video-games or playing football. And stuff.

Katara sighs.

Life sucks.

* * *

**fifteen and eighteen.**

Katara hates Zuko.

Actually.

The sun is setting, she's walking home, holding hands with this cute boy named Jet who is always super-flirty and super-sweet and always complimenting her—not like _Zuko_, who is dating that gloomy girl Mai and most definitely takes _no notice _of her short-shorts and tank-tops.

Anyway.

"You look really pretty today," Jet tells her, fingering a curl of her hair. "Blue's really your color."

She blushes.

They're on the sidewalk, and Jet's sort-of-kind-of-maybe about to kiss her, when, _out of nowhere, _Zuko's car pulls up on the side of the road.

He honks the horn, and rolls down his window. "Sorry to _interrupt,_" he starts, not sounding _the least bit sorry_. "But your dad wants you home, Katara. It's getting dark."

Jet glares. "Who the hell are _you_? Her brother?"

Zuko rolls his eyes. "You, shut up." He turns back to Katara. "You: Get. In. Now."

Katara _seethes._

"Sorry, Jet." And, just to piss Zuko off further, she kisses the boy beside her on the cheek. "I don't want to get into trouble."

"'S fine." Jet beams at her—and somehow glares at Zuko at the same time—as she slips into the passenger seat of the bright-red car. "See you tomorrow?"

"_Definitely._" She winks, and Zuko all but speeds away.

Katara goes Certified Wild Child after that. "What the fu—"

"Language," Zuko chides.

Katara _screams. _"_Why did you do that?! _Did Sokka put you up to this? What's wrong with you, I thought we were _friends_!"

Zuko doesn't have the grace to look guilty. "We are." A beat. "I'm just looking out for you."

"..._Sure_ you are." She mumbles something about Mai under her breath.

Zuko just continues to drive.

(She doesn't notice the look he gives her, or how his eyes linger on her lips as they pull into the driveway.)

* * *

**sixteen and nineteen.**

Zuko and her brother are coming home from Ba Sing Se University for winter break; they're in the basement, and have been playing video games for three solid hours.

"You should tell him," Azula says, stirring her hot chocolate.

Katara rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right. I'll tell your brother the day you tell that Hahn guy."

"Oh, Katara." Azula sighs, sipping at her drink. "It's different. You've known Zuzu all your life. He's single, now, ever since he dumped that Mai. Hahn is a man-slut whom I've only met twice." She winks. "If you know what I mean—"

"Okay, okay, _okay_!" Katara holds up her hands. "I get it. Stop talking. _Please._"

"Tell Zuko you love him, then—I can tell you for a fact he feels the same—"

Because Somebody Upstairs hates her, Zuko emerges from the man-cave, just in time to ask, "Tell Zuko _what?_"

Katara dies.

Actually.

"That—t-that we're going to the mall. Um, bye!"

Katara grabs her keys, and Azula's wrist, and they are out the door in record time.

* * *

**seventeen and twenty.**

Katara's drunk.

She and Azula road-tripped all the way to Ba Sing Se University for the weekend to visit their _darling brothers, _and they are now clad in strappy stilettos, skintight mini-dresses, and are currently buzzed out of their _minds _at some dorm-party that Sokka and Zuko told them _not _to go to.

Speaking of Zuko...

Katara sees him coming towards her, and his hand latches around her wrist; from her _blurry _peripheral vision, she sees Sokka grabbing Azula, too.

"What are you _doing_?" he hisses. "You're _seventeen, _Katara. _Seventeen._"

"An' yer _twenny," _she slurs. "_Big deallll_."

"It _is _a big deal." He drags her down the hall, towards his and Sokka's dorm. She doesn't really see Sokka though; Azula must be pretty hard to handle. She cackles at the thought.

"Are you even _listening_?" Zuko asks, and she shakes her head in a wide circle.

"Nah." She giggles, before adding, "Yer a fun-sucker, Zukie. Suckin' da fun outta everythin'."

"You're dad's gonna _kill me_._" _He groans. "You're going to be so sick tomorrow, too."

She pouts. She's all dressed up, and Zuko's thinking about her _dad?_ "Dun' I look pretty, though? Huh, Zuk—Zuko?"

He stiffens, and lets go of her wrist. They stand in the middle of the hallway, the party-music still blaring in her ears—she hears something like _call me, maybe _emanating from the room.

Typical.

Boo.

Her mind must've run away for a moment, because when it comes back, she notices Zuko staring at her. Like he's seeing her for the first time.

Katara is quite the philosophical drunk.

Her eyes zero in on his lips, and she steps forward.

And.

Then.

She.

Kisses.

Him.

His lips are soft and she knows she probably tastes like the girly alcohol she chugged down all night and then his arms are on her shoulders and he's gently pushing her back, like she's made of glass.

"K...Katara." He's breathless. "You're...you're drunk, you don't know what you're doing—we'll pretend like this never happened, okay? You're seventeen. Just got drunk for the first time. Don't know—"

Katara feels something like her heart break.

Zuko...rejected her.

"I do _too _know!" she shrills, skinny-arms batting wildly around her. "I _love you, _okay? Okay—I...for years now. All along. 'S always been...you..."

He stares, good eye wide.

"Dun' treat me...like I'm some..._kid_..."

Katara shoves past him, and pulls her cell-phone out of her clutch.

She dials Sokka's number.

She needs to get out of here.

* * *

**eighteen and twenty-one.**

Katara ignores him for almost a year after The Incident, as she likes to call it.

She doesn't know if it's because she genuinely doesn't want to see him, or if it's because her dignity is breaking out its last-ditch efforts at self-preservation.

She's pretty sure it's the latter. _Whatever, _though. Seriously.

Zuko and Sokka are making what must be their fifty-fourth friggin' visit this month. It's her last week in high school, and they. Are. Ruining. It.

Or, at least Zuko is.

Sokka doesn't know about The Incident. Azula assisted her in swearing her stupid brother to secrecy. So, she can't really blame him, for much.

She's sitting on her porch, moping, lips poised around what's left of her cherry-popsicle. Azula's on a date. Her dad is on a business trip. Sokka is at Zuko's house. So, for now, she's safe, and alone—

"Katara?"

Or not.

"Go away." She moans, hiding her face with her hair. "I don't wanna see you. Ever. Like, really, _ever._"

Zuko doesn't seem to grasp the concept of 'like, really, _ever'_, because he plops down right beside her.

She doesn't see his car parked anywhere, so he must've walked the three miles from his house.

Whatever. She's not, like, _touched _or anything.

She hates this jerk.

"We need to talk."

Katara almost snorts at his attempt at maturity. "Mhm. Sure. Okay, how's this: I threw myself at you, and you pushed me away like a sack of potatoes. You think I'm your kid sister. You feel bad, and you want to let me down easy, but because you're _you, _you have to amplify the awkward to the umpteenth degree—_mmph!_"

She stops talking.

Because, well, Zuko is sort-of-kind-of-kissing her.

She pulls back first. After a long, long while, of course. Wink.

"Um." She blinks, eyelashes fluttering. "I—you—_huh_?"

"You said you loved me." He's looking down at the concrete. "I didn't know—I didn't know if you meant it or not. Because you were drunk. But, er, because you're not now, and I'm not now, I just wanted to say, um, I love you too. For a long time. Too long."

Katara's lips break out into a smile.

And then they're on his again.

* * *

**AN:**

Ahh, I felt bad because a lot of you didn't like the last ficlet! I admit, it was pretty strange and not very Zutara-y. Sorry guys!

SO I SMOTHERED THIS FIC WITH FLUFF AND ZUTARA. MUAHAHA.

Please review? ^_^


	12. just us against the world

**title: **just us against the world

**prompt: **#29 monster

**setting: **AU. Modern-day.

**word count: **900

**summary: **"I'll save you from the zombies." Wherein Zuko and Katara become partners-in-crime during the Zombie Apocalypse.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

It happens on just another normal, summer day.

(Only, well, _not_)

Katara stretches her arms and sighs as she wakes up; she has the house to herself, for the day. Her father is out on a business trip—and Sokka took this opportunity to sleep at Suki's house. Katara strains a smile and tries not to think too hard about what her Best Friend and older brother do alone. Together. At _night._

_Shudder._

Needless to say, she doesn't talk to Suki about boys much anymore.

She's slipping into a pair of denim shorts and her favorite, dream-blue tank-top, when she hears the rustling coming from downstairs—she stills, and strains her ears; in the silence, she can hear the faint jangle of the doorknob.

Instantly, she's on guard.

In less than a minute, she's grabbed Sokka's baseball bat from his room and is halfway down the stairs, walking on her toes, careful not to make any noise.

_Calm down, _she tells herself. _It might just be your imagination._

Katara grips the bat in her hand, _hard_; she's still not going to take any chances.

None-too-gracefully, after counting to three and taking a deep—_possibly her last, _a dark corner of her mind narrates—breath, and wrenching the front-door open, bat poised—

—only to come face-to-face with an old, muted-red scar and amber-field eyes and _oh my god, is that blood_?

"Zuko?" she asks, tentative—like still waters. She usually breathes hate into his name, but she can tell something is wrong. "What are you—"

In typical Zuko fashion, he does not respond right away; instead, he latches his fingers around the bone of her wrist, and proceeds to _drag her out of her house._

"We need to get out of here," is all he says.

She tries to pull away—without success, of course, because Zuko's been lifting weights and doing martial arts since _birth. _Clawing at him, she shrills, "Let me go! Just what the hell is _wrong _with you?"

They're already halfway down the block—mostly thanks to Zuko, considering she's been (fruitlessly) dragging her feet, when she sees them, surging from the side: tall, gangly, with grey-vein-streaked skin and apple-white eyes. There's two of them, and there are chunks of _something _(oh my _god) _peeking out of red-black teeth and one of them is missing an eye and there is a leg on the road and—

Zuko turns, letting go of her, and shoots both of them in the head.

(Katara _screams)_

The rotting bodies drop.

Shaking, she swallows the bile rising in her throat, and screeches, "Are those things.. are they z—"

"Yeah," he finishes, stepping away from her, pocketing his gun. He sighs, a bit, before looking at her, seriously, "Listen, Katara, I'm sorry I didn't explain earlier—"

"You _should _be," she snaps.

He looks a bit hurt, but, _whatever. _Yeah, so, okay, he's saved her from Death By Zombie, but... she still sort of hates him. Maybe a little less now.

(Long story short: his dad disowned him during freshman year—she _did _feel bad for him, considering the whole bleeding heart thing she has going for her—but then he had to go and become part of a gang and break into her house and _steal _her mother's necklace; at one point, he sent _Jet__, _her ex, of all people, to the hospital, and then he went off to live with his Uncle for a year and he's supposed to be A New Man now, but really, she can't just shake off the past.)

But because she likes Zuko a _little _more than the Undead Corpse-People that want to rip out her spine and eat her brains, she doesn't knock him out with her bat, and waits for him to continue speaking.

"It's got something to do with the water system. They got Ozai," he says, sounding flat, emotionless. His eyes are glassy. "Azula called my apartment today, to tell me. I knew you lived nearby," _Yeah, _Katara thinks, _because you broke into my house, jerk! "_—and I... wanted to make sure that..."

_You were okay._

Katara goes blank.

He came all the way out here—into freaky-undead-monster-infested territory no less—to... "_You_ came to save_ me_ from the zombies?"

Zuko smirks, but his cheeks are tinged red. He affirms, "I came to save you from the zombies."

And then something that smells like rot and cheated death comes surging towards them, and Katara—screamless—knocks it down with a reflexive blow from her bat, both sickened and relieved by the _snap_ she hears when the metal comes into contact with the its thick, fleshy neck.

'It' looks like it used to be a woman. Her hair is long and dark and curled (and drenched in blood and something that might be entrails) and Katara feels something inside of her crack.

But she knows she can't think of them as people.

That'll just make it _worse._

Zuko is staring at her, halfway through the act of reaching for the gun in his pocket. His lips are curved into an 'o'.

Katara would have laughed, if it weren't for the dead blood that spattered onto her cheek and the shaking in her hands.

She tries not to think about it.

"Mm, well, I don't need any saving," she singsongs, smugly. "But I could use some_ backup_."

She can see a light go on in those sunlight eyes, and quickly adds, "And don't go thinking that this means I like you, now." Her eyes narrow, but it's half hearted. "It 's just that...your delinquent ways just might be a little useful during this whole...thing...and—" In the distance, she hears a moan; Zuko shoots down another one, while she's mid-sentence. It looks young. A boy. "—once we find Sokka and Suki and Aang and the others—you can just...um, go and do your own thing. Got it?"

Zuko rolls his eyes, clearly amused, despite the enormity of their situation.

And then, because she _is _a seventeen year old girl, and all, she notices that his shirt is torn in a few places, exposing just _what _comes of being a lifelong athlete—before she promptly looks away.

"Sure, Katara," he tells her, unaware of her plight. Oh, she definitely does _not _turn red when he says her name. "Whatever you say."

Flustered, she steps towards him, and away from the still, dead-undead-bodies on the ground.

(her traitor-eyes hone in on the smooth, muscled plain of his stomach that peeks out from his torn shirt)

"Okay," she says, slowly, remembering herself, and what was actually _important:_ finding her friends and brother and father, and making sure they were safe. "Let's go, then."

Zuko nods, walking a little closer to her than necessary.

She doesn't mind.

* * *

**AN:**

I always wanted to write a zombie fic!

May or may not continue this, depending on what you guys like.

Pleasee review? I'm almost at 100 for this, thanks SO much you guys!

~Nora


	13. me and you, making it through

**title: **me and you, making it through_  
_

**prompt: **#5, forward

**word count: **1900

**setting: **this is continuation of chapter twelve, because y'all seemed to like it. so, we're still in zombie!verse. :)

**summary: **Two weeks ago, if someone had told Katara that she would be traipsing around town with Zuko, and shooting down zombies with an assortment of stolen weaponry, she would have driven them down to a local Psych Ward. And yet, as fate would have it, here she is.

**disclaimer: **do not own.

* * *

Two weeks ago, if someone had told Katara that she would be traipsing around the Earth States with _Zuko _(who held the number one spot on her list Least Favorite People _Ever _for _three_ years), stealing cars and shooting down mindless-infected-_zombie-_people with glock-17's, she would have laughed. Maybe even given the poor soul a ride to Omashu's Psychiatric Ward, because, _really?_

And yet, here she is.

Waiting in some hot-wired, electric-blue, Mercedes Benz (Zuko protested that it was a _chick car, _but after all of the hideous, _enormous_ black jeeps, she insisted that it was _her turn _to pick), while Zuko (whom, she grudgingly admits, is now _at least _in her top ten of Favorite People Ever, considering how many times he's saved her life, and vice versa) goes inside of a local Pay-Mart to collect some more supplies.

(Weapons. Packaged food. Bottled water.

And, by special request, some dry shampoo, because she hasn't washed her hair in _weeks. _

Can you say _nasty_?)

They are in Ba Sing Se, now, and are traveling towards the Fire States.

According to the snappy glimpses news-casts Katara and Zuko have managed to watch while on the move, the Earth States' reservoirs have been infected by some sort of chemical, which _of course, _none of the reporters ever mention the name of.

Helpful. _Not._

It's said to be sourced in her hometown of Omashu.

Apparently, the morning Zuko had pulled her out of her house, half of the residents had already been infected.

It's a _miracle _that he had found her in time. Otherwise, she probably would've ended up opening her door to somebody who was _not-so-human_.

The thought makes her sick with gratitude.

Not like she'd ever admit that to Zuko, though.

_Puh-lease._

Most of the survivors are making their way towards the Fire or Water States. The Air States, located strategically above-ground, are only available for the elite refugees, who can afford the luxury of air-space costs. Katara knows she has roots to Water, but she had agreed with Zuko when he said that Fire was _much _less likely to end up infected, what with the enormous, fortified walls, and the fact that its water supply was much more guarded than, well, _Water's_.

She hasn't seen anyone besides Zuko for the past two weeks, but she has managed to contact everyone. Her father is—_for now—_safe in the Water States on his business trip. Sokka and Suki are planning to meet up with them soon, and are also traveling to Fire (Suki's parents, though, were infected; Katara will never forget the bubbling, sobbing screams she heard from her best friend through the phone's receiver). Aang and Toph, who live on the opposite side of the Earth States, farther from Omashu, had more time, and are now refugees in the Air States (much to Toph's annoyance). Aang's father owns land and property in Air, and the bald boy had offered (read: insisted) for Katara and the others to relocate to Air with him and Toph, but it had already been too late: the only airport system in the Earth States' is located on the border between Omashu and Gaoling.

Otherwise known as Unsafe Territory.

So, for now, Zuko's all she's got.

And, strangely enough, she's all he has, too.

(His sister, Azula, and her friends Mai and Ty Lee, supposedly used Ozai's money to pay for a flight to Air.

Zuko has yet to hear from them.

His father is dead (although he doesn't seem to upset about this). His mother, like hers, is _long_-dead.

He can't contact his Uncle, who may or may not still be living in Fire.

Katara. Is. All. He. Has.)

She's lost in thought, for a moment, before the sound of footsteps reaches her ears.

Katara stills. It isn't Zuko; his movements are always light and faint, to prevent detection.

Reaching for her gun (she ditched the bat _ages_ ago), she rolls down the windows a crack, and—

_Screams._

Because, splayed on the ground, six feet away from the car, is _Jet._

And not Tall, Dark, and _Extremely, Should-Be-Illegally _Handsome Jet, who comes complete with cocky grin, waggly eyebrows, and an unlimited supply of pick-up lines.

(Not the Jet she dated for three weeks when she was a young, bumbling, naïve freshman-girl of fourteen.

Not the Jet who dumped her.)

No.

_This _Jet is sweating and gasping, like there is water and salt and blood in his lungs all at once; in the distance, Katara can see a myriad of fallen bodies, gray and rotting.

She pushes the car-door open, running over to his fallen form.

"Jet!" she screeches; her hands move towards him, instinctively, but she pulls back, noticing the foam at his lips and the rolled-back eyes and the rot on his skin— "Jet, can you hear me?!"

He moans, turning away from her, and says, in a deep, grunting voice, "K...atar...a?"

"Yes!" She's shaking, eyes honing in on the gaping _whole _his neck, like a bite—a chunk of flesh is missing and she fights the urge to vomit.

She knows what's coming next.

Katara has seen people transform, after being bitten.

It's _horrifying._

His skin goes gnarled and veiny and the lights in his eyes go off and he goes _rabid—_biting and hissing and murdering and—

She's never seen it happen to someone she _knew, _though.

"You have to fight it," she says, voice trembling. "Jet, you can't turn. Please. Don't—"

He howls in pain, doubling over, and swipes at her with his thick, fleshy hands.

Katara stiffens. She has the gun in her grasp.

She just needs to _shoot—_

_But it's Jet._

He's turning to her, again, and she can see the last bit of humanity trickle away; there's pleading in his expression, and then there's nothing at all and he lurches towards her and—

She shrieks, backpedaling before sprinting away from him, weaving through the parking lot. Zuko, who either (conveniently) has Extremely Good Hearing or Extremely Good Timing, darts through the automatic doors, cart in his hands, kicking away stray (zombie) limbs at his feet.

"Katara?" he calls out.

She flails her stick-arms, in response, pointing to Zombie!Jet, who is still transitioning, and is currently writhing on the pavement, with his hands clapped over his ears as he screams.

Zuko is by her side in an instant, leaving the supplies-cart near the car.

"I-It's _Jet,_" she whispers, voice hoarse. "He's...he's been infected. He's changing, now...he looks like he's in pain."

Zuko is silent, looking thoughtful for a moment, before saying, softly, "...I'll shoot him."

Katara's eyes widen, horrified. "You _can't_, Zuko! It's Jet! You can't just..."

His gaze is hard. "Katara," he starts, eyes on hers. "He's... going to be one of them. We've done this before. I know it's hard, but—"

"You _don't _understand!" she shrills, and Jet groans and Zuko looks at her with a sadness tinging the amber of his eyes. "I know him—_I dated him_, I can't—I..."

Zuko's hand traces over her shoulder, before resting on her arm. "You don't have to do anything, Katara," he says, more gently than she's ever heard him. "Just... wait in the car. I'll be there soon."

Numbly, Katara nods, swallowing the protest on her tongue when she notices the way he's shaking. _This is hard for him, too_, she thinks to herself. _But it has to...be done._

She's sitting in the passenger seat of the Mercedes when she hears the gunshots, and puts a fist to her lips to muffle her screams.

X

She's not mad at Zuko for killing Jet.

In fact, she doesn't feel much at all.

It's like—the novelty and the adventure has all worn off, and reality is setting in. That was _Jet. _A person. A jerk, but a _human being. _

These creatures—zombies, _whatever—_they were people, once, too.

Katara had spent her time trying to forget that.

And now, with Jet's pained, half-alive gaze flitting through her mind, she _can't_.

_Anyone _can be turned—Sokka, Suki, Aang, Toph—Z_uko._

Her breath hitches.

Anyone.

And she doesn't know how to deal with that.

X

When she wraps her arms around Zuko that night, shaking to the bones, he doesn't question her.

He just pulls her closer.

X

It's a week after the whole Jet Incident.

Today, she and Zuko get rid of (_slaughter) _a family of five.

The youngest is a girl, who couldn't be more than seven years old.

(_Her once-pretty, blonde, doll-hair is thick with blood and there was a long, frothing gash from her temple to her chin._)

She is grinning, and is _this _close to sinking her teeth in Katara's hip when she finds it in herself to _shoot_.

She and Zuko are climbing back into the car, blankets and guns and food in tow, when she decides to use the last of her lacking compartmentalization skills and randomly blurts, "It's kind of sad. And pathetic." When he turns to her, she continues. "If I die now—or turn—I... I would never even get my first kiss."

Zuko, who is in the process of shifting the car into drive, fumbles instantly, eyes trailing to hers, the surprise evident, "But—I thought... you and Jet?"

She's seemingly immune to his use of the 'J' word. "We weren't even together for a month. And I was fourteen, and never let him do anything before—" Her eyes narrow. "before you two ended up in the _hospital _because of a fist-fight that _you _started on school grounds. And then when he got out he just dumped me, without any explanation at all!"

Zuko is quiet. The car remains in park, and they remain unmoving—they _always _remain unmoving, Katara thinks; they save eachother's lives on a daily basis, but they never _talk _about things, like his scar or his father or her mother or his—

"Why did you do that?" she asks, hoarsely. "And why did you steal my necklace? Break into my _house_? I know your life has been rough, but—"

"I was going to return it right away," he tells her, quickly, nervously, eyes pleading. "I swear, Katara, it was just this...this _stupid _initiation thing and I just wanted to belong—I mean, I was going to give it back, because I knew how much it meant to you, and I'm so sorry, I know you didn't deserve that..."

She hears the honesty in his voice, she _believes him, _but she's not done, yet.

"And... and Jet?"

There is a span of silence, and Katara feels her limbs quiver.

And then: "He... was bragging. About the things he... did with you." He clears his throat. "So, I hit him," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Katara's mind goes blank; she sits, open-mouthed, gaping, taken aback, before managing, "Oh."

_Who would've though, _she muses. _That all this time, I had Mr. Ruffian of the Year defending my honor._

He scratches his neck, looking away. "I'm sorr—"

She doesn't know if it's all the blood and gore, or if it's the fact that she might die tomorrow or if it's because she really, actually _does _like him, a _lot_; likes the way he speaks, the way he moves, the way he treats her, the way he _is—_but she leans forward and presses her lips against his, _hard, insistent, grating—_and he kisses her right back, dipping her head and she feels warmer than she has in days, _weeks, _and it's like a taste of hope, a taste that reminds her that she can push forward, that this _is not the end._

He pulls back, eyes a bit misty, tone breathless: "You're not going to die, Katara. I won't let that happen." And then, teasingly, "But, I guess you have your first kiss covered, anyway."

She blushes at her own boldness, and scrambles for words as the car starts and they speed down the road and the two of them—ZukoandKatara, KataraandZuko, partners, friends, _something more—_move forward.

* * *

**AN: **

part two, and possible the final installment of ZOMBIE!ZUTARA verse, for now.

because HOLY CRAP, guys, sooo many reviews for the last chapter! i love each and every one of you with the power of one thousand burning suns.

ACTUALLY.

your reviews keep me writingggg, so as always, they are much-loved!

(also, i updated all my fic summaries so that they have these cute heart things! yes, i am a child. muahahaa)

~nora


	14. with you

**title: **with you

**prompt: **#26 voice

**notes: **all dialogue. lol. excuse my BS.

**setting: **canon-compliant. Zuko dies during the S3 finale. Hints at prior Zutara.

**summary: **Katara, on meeting with ghost of the boy who took lightning for her. "I want you to be real."

* * *

"_...No_."

"Katara—"

"No, no, no..."

"Please—"

"You're dead. You're dead. You're _dead!_"

"I'm here. Katara, I'm—"

"_Stop_ it! I can't do this. Why am I doing this to myself? Just—"

"—here. With you."

"—go. Leave me alone. Get out of my head. You're not real. You're _not_."

"Katara...please..."

"Don't use his voice. Don't _ever_ use his voice. Or his face. Or _anything._ Just leave me _be._"

"I _am_ Z—"

"I'm dreaming. I'm crazy. I love him—you, _whatever—_and I'll never stop. This is just me reminding myself of what I can never have."

"...I love you, too."

"Mm. You can't be real, then; he never had a reason to tell me that."

* * *

"...You're back."

"I never left."

"But you _did. _You're _gone. _You're not _him_. I—"

"Katara, just _listen—_"

"—couldn't save him. I couldn't heal him. I couldn't do anything. And he—you—_I don't know—_died. He's dead. Soul without skin. And I was so, so cruel to him...for all that time. And I—I just started to forgive him, to lov—"

"—_it's _not your fault. It'll never be your fault. I'd do it all again, if it meant I could save you."

"I can never save them. Never. I let him down. I _always _let him down. I pulled away from him when I just wanted to be with him. I loved him but I never told him. I watched him die, and now—_you're _here. But you're _not—_"

"I _am—_"

"—_him_."

* * *

"I can't touch you. My hand just slips right through—"

"It's because..."

"Oh. _Oh._"

"It's okay. It's okay. Sh, Katara..."

"But it's not_. _It's _not—_"

* * *

"It's been a year."

"I know."

"I want you to be real."

"I—I know."

* * *

"...You're fading."

"...I know."

* * *

"You're leaving me?"

"I don't want to. Katara, I would _never—_"

"You sound just like him. You look just like him. But—"

"I'm not? Is that what you still think?"

"...Yes. No. I don't—"

"Know? It's okay. Katara, as long as you're safe, I'm fine."

"You can't be him. You should hate me. You _should._"

"I could never do that, Katara."

"You're so stupid. So, so stupid. I...I—"

"Don't cry. Please, don't."

"Y-you shouldn't have been stuck with me. You should have gotten to see your Uncle."

"I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"_Why_?"

"Because I love you."

"It's not t-that easy. It's not. It—"

"—is. It _is. _And I still do. I always will. And I'm selfish. I wanted to see you one last time."

"Don't say it like that."

"What?"

"Your goodbyes."

"Okay, okay. How about... thank you?"

"For _what_?"

"Listening. Seeing me. Loving me. Only love can break through things like death."

"You sound so cheesy."

"I'm serious."

"...And fading. I can barely see you."

"You don't need to. I'll still always be here, you know that, right?"

"I..."

"Say it, Katara."

"I do. And thank you."

"...For what?"

"Coming back. Even if it was only for a while."

"We'll see each other again. And maybe, er, catch up from where we left off at the Western Air Temple—"

"_Zuko_!"

"I love you. And don't blame yourself. Please. Just do that for me?"

"I...I'll try."

* * *

"Alright. Now, close your eyes."

"Will you still be—"

"Yeah. I'll always be—"

"—with me?"

"—_with you_."

* * *

**AN: **cheesy, corny, lame, etc. etc. i know.

you've been waiting like 3 weeks for an update, and it's kind of sad that this was all i came up with.

but i've been DYING to write an all dialogue fic and love spirits and stuff so...this happened.

also, school has started, so updates may take a bit longer.

but please please please review with your thoughts? did you like this? was it weird? cool?

would you read more dialogue fics from this series?

input is loved!

~nora


	15. and she is not yours to keep

**title: **she is not yours to keep

**prompt: **sometimes

**notes: **experimental, written with writer's block. Zuko's POV, which is pretty new for me...

**setting: **S3. between the southern raiders and finale.

**summary: **Sometimes, Zuko wishes.

* * *

(Sometimes, Zuko wishes.)

Sometimes he stares after her—all bones and blue and beacon-hair—as she slips away from the camp-light, and lets himself imagine the sound of her laughter in his ear, his name in her throat. He imagines the sound of her heartbeat pressed against his own—pulse to pulse, skin on skin—her breath on his neck and his kiss in her lungs.

When dawn comes, and she is fast-asleep, he is remembering the feel of her hand on his scar—the barely-there presence, the gentle, fairy-touch—he is remembering the way she wraps herself around him on the dock, _I'm ready to forgive you, _immersing himself in the way her eyes sometimes linger, the way she has been haunting him—water-ghost, mermaid-spirit, painted-girl— the way the thought of her makes his teeth ache and his soul burn and the way that she will never know.

(Because she does not belong with him.

Why would she ever want to?)

Sometimes, her hands roam. Sometimes her voice catches and quiets and there is something in those eyes that he can't quite define, something that makes him want to hope, something that frightens him, something that runs deeper than bending and forgiveness and moonless battles—and sometimes Zuko wishes, wishes for what he cannot have, wishes for what might not come true, but Katara is more than that—and so, he, a prince of patches, without a kingdom, with his Midus-touch and broken skin,

lets her go.

(Because sometimes, Zuko knows better than to dream.)


End file.
